I could not capture tonight’s moon — the Pink Moon — very well at all. It’s beautiful, though, and this is the best I could do.

I walked Einstein … not Boomer. Einstein was full of full-moon madness.

Walking away from the house. Headed into the dark. Totally unafraid. And she’s always been that way. The girl has stared down cross-country airplane trips (albeit in first class), and rat invasions (on Commercial Street in the North End of Boston … where else?). She’s moved with me for years on end. Uncomplaining. Still loving me despite the changes, the new addresses, the cross-country moves, the 36-hour car rides, the crying jags, the sure-I’ll-never-make-it-all-nighters, the divorce, the sleepless nights wondering when … if … life would ever feel normal or safe or reasonable again, the addition of first Coco and then Boomer, the crazy dancing to Prince, the blow-the-windows-out of Beethoven, the maniacal all-night of belly-hurting laughter when my high school friend Pam visited and we stayed up til the wee hours remembering our first kiss/cheerleading/high school drama days.

That’s Einstein. A true thick or thin cat. A true friend. An honest-to-goodness full moon cat.

For sure.